Justice
by Panzergal
Summary: Raito is resurrected by the deathgods, but is given life only on condition that he faces up to their challenge. Sherlock Holmes Death Note crossover. Next Chapter Updated! Please read and review!
1. Chapter 1

Prologue

"This is interesting. Very interesting. It seems that some good, as impossible as it may sound, might have arisen from your mischief, Ryuk."

Ruby eyes glinting, the King of the Shinigami lounged languidly upon his skeletal throne. Delicately fingering a skull, his jeweled fingers flashed in the somber twilight.

"I thought so, my lord. As manipulative, cruel and pathetic these humans may be, their ways and ideas may be of use to this world," said Ryuk, in an unusually servile and meek manner.

The king shifted irritably on his throne. "My subjects are lazy and complacent. All they do is gamble or sleep, while the place crumbles to dust. Imagine. Imagine!" The King tossed the skull away contemptuously onto the dank floor. "We were once a great kingdom. Our buildings were varnished and polished ivory- jewels lined even the most common of streets, and our inhabitants were hardworking, intelligent and diligent. And now look at us!"

"But it's so much trouble…" murmured the King restlessly. His grinning skull features took on a look of distressed perplexity. "It would mean reforming everything, and I doubt those lazy creatures, who call themselves my subjects, would be bothered to reform themselves. And I can't do anything about it, because they are not breaking any rules."

"If… I may venture a suggestion?"

A red gleam of suspicion appeared in the King's ruby eyes, and he looked at Ryuk warily. "Speak away, but this had not be one of your tricks again, Ryuk. My patience is limited."

Ryuk's demonic smile widened. "I say we make it interesting for the Death gods. My experience in the human world has taught me many things, many interesting things that I wish to put into practice myself. My companions are bored, restless… if they had a first hand view of what I have seen, they might be… rather compelled to make changes for themselves."

"So what are you suggesting?"

"I suggest we resurrect Yagami Raito."

"What? The one you gave your death note to? "

"Yes, lord. He is, by far, the most singular and interesting human in that realm." Ryuk grinned. "It required two geniuses to beat him at his game, and it was he who managed to successfully kill one of our kind, the death-god Rem, who broke the rules by loving a human girl. Give him the hours of death gods who have died before their time or have broken the laws- it would be no drain on our life to sustain him, for it would be our errant brothers and sisters paying for their crimes."

"I fail to see how that can help us in anyway," grumbled the King. "A human! That is preposterous! No self-respecting death god would listen to a mere human!"

"No…" Ryuk's eyes glittered. "I suggest a game."


	2. Nothingness

Chapter 1

_There is only nothingness, when you die._

"NO!! NO! I don't want to die! Please! I don't want to die! I DON-" He was suddenly cut off. With his last scream strangling in his throat, Raito felt his grip on Ryuk's knee slacken.

The air around him had suddenly ceased to exist, as though his lungs had forgotten how to breathe. His chest was constricting… tighter and tighter- until he could feel his eyes bulging, the pressure so horrible that he was sure they would burst out of their sockets. Although Raito's eyes were wide open, he could see the darkness at the corners closing in- the growing shadow obscuring that grinning face, the flattened nose, and finally, those ghostly, bulging eyes-

And then, there was nothing.

He suddenly found himself floating, gliding, in a strange grayish mist that seemed to congeal around him, preventing him from seeing beyond the fog. It was utterly quiet- the sort of unnerving silence that hung tensely in the air. It was the quiet before a battle, before a storm.

"H-hello?" Raito tried to speak. He could feel himself forming the words with his mouth, but his ears heard nothing. The oppressive grey blocked out all vision, and also sound, it would seem. Where was he? Was he… dead? Panicking, Raito drew up his fists, to hit out at that oppressive fog, and found, to his horror, that he had no hands. He looked down, and saw that he had no body.

He was but a disembodied head.

_Oh God, oh God…_

Ironic, that he should now be calling for God, when he once envisioned himself as one. Stripped of power, humiliated, Yagami Raito was nothing.

Nada.

How long he spent, in that shadowy prison, Raito did not know. Hours, days, weeks- even years? Who knew? Even with his agile brain and complex reasoning… he was still powerless. He exploited every possibility, every method he could think of to transcend that stultified existence, but to no avail. He was, for the second time, falling into despair- knowing that he was never going to get out, that he was going to spend eternity in the in between, in the spaces between life and death.

Then, there was a sound of wings…

The fog was gone.

He was suspended in a chamber of red light, a narrow cavern bathed in blood, with tiny twinkling black gems embedded along its length. Raito blinked. The sudden assault of colour on his vision, after the lengthy periods of grey, made the dull redness of the place seem like fireworks exploding before his eyes.

"So, Raito. Heh heh… how have you been? We did have some fun times together, didn't we? Pity you lost."

An oddly familiar voice rang out its cheerful greeting to him, somewhere above. Recovering from his shock, Raito looked up into the face of that grinning demon, the last face he saw before he died.

"Ryuk! You… What are you doing here? What is this place?"

Although his voice was remarkably stable and firm, Raito was boiling inside. He had not forgotten what the death-god had done to him. He wanted nothing more than to lash out at that mocking grin, those disgustful protuberant eyes. But he mastered himself. Ryuk must be here for a reason. There was no other explanation. Ryuk only cared for himself and his amusements… Raito must see if he can make use of the death-god, to escape from here…

A tiny sneer curled at Raito's handsome mouth.

"Oh, here? Nah, nothing much. It's just a meeting place when the death-gods wish to speak to the souls of the humans who used the death-note… but I must say it has not been used for a long time. Anyway, I have here a proposition from the King." Ryuk landed, retracted his wings, and took out a large, formal-looking scroll. And upon unrolling it, the scroll extended several feet that ended in a messy lump at the death-god's feet. "Trust the king and his need to be long-winded," grumbled Ryuk, fumbling with the mess and squinting at the minute writing. "Ah well, he's not here at any rate, and basically, what he offers you, is the chance of becoming god, Raito. But, in another time, and in another place."

"And why," asked Raito suspiciously. "Is your King being so nice to me?"

Ryuk shrugged his massive shoulders. "Oh we are bored, and we decided that a little competition, would have make things more interesting in the realm." And here, Ryuk squinted at a line on the immense scroll, and continued, " …perhaps by having a first hand view of human activity, the other death-gods would be more keen to change themselves, to make the world a better place."

Ryuk snorted.

"But actually," Ryuk grinned. "I just got bored again."

"Oh really? So you got bored," said Raito coolly.

"Yeah…" the demon sounded almost apologetic. "Anyway you get your body back, and I bet you must hate that miserable existence all death-note users go to when they die- neither heaven nor hell… But the catch is, you must defeat one of the best thinkers of all time, otherwise you will be sent straight back."

"And who is he?"

"Not telling," laughed Ryuk, tossing his end of the scroll on the floor. It instantly shriveled and collapsed into a pile of ashes. "You will find out when you get there." The death-god rubbed his claw-like hands together. "The odds are going to be great. Many of the death-gods are interested by this large scale gambling. You against him. Your progress with be watched by the hundreds of us."

_Ah. So it must be a man._

"All right then." said Raito dismissively, although inwardly he was furious at the idea of becoming a plaything, for those demons down below. "I have no wish to know about the gambling procedures of your brethren, at any rate."

He took a deep breath.

"Then tell me, Ryuk. How much time has your King allowed me?"

"Oh, about a year or so… you see, you get your life now from death-gods who have died before using up their hours, or are being punished for breaking the laws. And considering that most of the death-gods back home are a bunch a lazy slobs, few would be bothered to do such stupid things anyway."

"What?" spluttered Raito, momentarily losing his frosty calmness. "Only a year? How am I supposed to win in such a short span of time?"

"I have no idea, and neither do I care," Ryuk leered in an amused tone. "You see, the King was rather reluctant, but I managed to persuade him. He was rather impressed with your skills. This is the only grace period you have, Raito. You really are in a tight spot… should be interesting to see how you handle this affair. But if you want to back out, it's fine with me. Although-" He looked at Raito craftily. "It would surprise me very much if you choose your current existence rather than take up the challenge."

"How _well_ you know me," murmured Raito, his eyes narrowed to slits as he thought.

He paused for a while, calculating. He only had one year to win, and to set up his utopia. It seemed like an impossible task, but, Raito had confidence in himself. And _anything_, to be human again- to taste food, to feel the wind on the face, to run, to talk, to feel…

"I accept the challenge, Ryuk."

"As I expected. And I guess I have to be your residential Death-god again… till either you die or get pardoned, or I don't know- whatever plans the king has for you, I suppose," said Ryuk idly, as his great wings sprouted from his shoulders.

Raito smiled.

A cold smile that did not reach his narrowed eyes.

_Ryuk, Ryuk. _

_Don't you know me better than that?_

_I am not your toy. Or even your little king's._

_I am Kira._

_I do not forgive. Neither do I forget._

_I need you now, but-_

_I shall make you suffer._

_And you will die._

"Of course, Ryuk. Of course."

Another blur of black feathers, and both man and demon disappeared.

Author's note: More chapters will be up soon! If you like it please review, because I really do value reviews and they give me the inspiration to update quickly. Thank you!


	3. The game's afoot

Chapter 2

"Wonderful, wonderful!"

Although I have been with him on so many adventures, have been in continuous (well, I have to admit, not much lately these few months, because of my medical practices and darling wife) contact with his astounding deductive abilities, I could still hardly keep the admiration from sounding in my voice. My friend lay reposed upon his armchair, reading the newspaper and having a good smoke with his pipe. Although to my medical eye he seemed gaunter, paler and evidently suffering from acute exhaustion, his bright eyes indicated that he was in high spirits. "Come now, that really is too much praise." He smiled faintly. "But, it certainly was a devilish tricky case, I must admit. Dr Kissinger is a man of remarkable talents."

"Yes," I said, taking a seat opposite him. "And I'm afraid, my dear sir, that you are definitely taking a rest for an indefinite time. Your nerves, I fear, have taken as much as they can stand at the moment. I would recommend a nice bracing climate, away from the stress and gloom of London."

He looked up at me with a smile.

"You never will change, will you?" laughed the man, taking another puff from his pipe. "You tend to make such a stupendous affair out of the very little. My nerves are shaken, that may be true, but this tends to be a usual occurrence after rather difficult cases. In a week I should be fine."

He flipped through the newspaper lazily.

"Anyway, it seems that nothing eventful is happening in London at the moment. Unless you count Sir George Endel, who according to this, had died of a heart attack yesterday morning. A rather unhappy way to die," said my friend meditatively. "But I must confess I never liked the man." He threw the newspaper across the table. "And, I would also advise you to take a hansom home later, rather than to walk." Grinning ruefully, for I should have known that it was impossible to hide from him the state of my shoes, I picked the newspaper from the mess of congratulatory telegrams and took a look. "George Endel? Why, wasn't he the man who was accused of the murder of his groom just a week ago?"

"Oh yes," he murmured wryly. "Interesting insight to our justice system. After a great deal of fuss, in which I am sure many bank cheques were exchanged, he managed to get off with a stern warning and a fine. He's a very rich man, who holds many… should I say, influential strings."

"Why, what a thing to say!"

"Well," the great detective shrugged. "As I've often said before, I seldom make any conclusions before I am sure of my facts. I have made careful study of most, if not all, of all the richest and most influential people in England. And if I am not mistaken, if you take down that little black book from that shelf opposite, and search under "E", there ought to be a nice little overview on the sort of man he is." Although his voice was calm, and rather weak, as a result of his recent exertions, I could tell he was full of repressed emotions.

He was silent for a short while, before speaking with sudden force and alacrity.

"Now you see why I take such great pains to distance myself from the police, and the likes of Lestrade? A highly decorated inspector of the Scotland Yard, and yet as thick as a slow-witted bull. Although, well, I have to admit that despite the lack of common sense, he has the tenacity of a bulldog…" His unexpected monologue trailed off into a moody silence.

After that mania that always seems to empower him while he was hot on case, my friend in the aftermath was a more lethargic, depressive person, and much more inclined to be philosophical and moody. He spent many of his waking moments carrying out either obscure scientific experiments, or reading an old book, or playing his favourite violin. As I settled down upon my chair to look over the newspaper's contents, I could not help but steal a glance at my dear friend. He was looking upwards at the ceiling, eyes curiously blank- and I wondered again at the power and ability of the human mind. I was certain, just by looking at that firm, angular face- that there was no criminal on earth who could ever evade the likes of Sherlock Holmes.

It was impossible to believe, that at that point in time, London, and the whole of England, would soon be subsumed by events deadlier and more fantastic than we had ever encountered.

* * *

"Well, the day didn't go too badly," muttered Raito to himself. Ever since his rather abrupt landing in Victorian London two weeks ago, Raito found himself amidst a people who did not take kindly to his blood stained suit, and thought that he had been involved in some murder or criminal incident. ("Sorry," said Ryuk, "I could only use the clothes which you wore during the day at that warehouse. That, or you going naked. All things considered, I think I made the right choice, didn't I?")

And considering that he was used to being encased in fog with no liberty of movement for a long while, it did take him some time to steady his movements and gestures. He had to brace and familiarize himself again with the sensations of being alive- to feel the wind on his face, the hard earth beneath his feet… the ability to move his body on command.

Raito realized it was not going to be easy. It had taken him all his cunning, wit and ingenuity to avoid harassment from suspicious constables, to get decent clothing (he charmed a young lady into giving him some money for clothes) and to get lodgings from an unscrupulous woman whom he knew could be paid to keep her mouth shut. It was remarkable that Raito had managed to get this far, seeing that he was suddenly thrown into an unfamiliar surrounding, and had little clue about the century that he was in. However, Raito was no ordinary man. Due to his ability to retain all that he had read (and he did read very voraciously), he at once recognized that he was in England, in the heart of London, and judging by the common use of hansoms and the clothing of the people- he was definitely in the Victorian times- most likely the late Victorians. It certainly was very lucky that Raito was fluent in both Japanese and English, and knew a smattering of other Western languages like German and French.

But Raito at once recognized a problem he would be facing. He was distinctly Asian, with his skin tone, almond shaped dark eyes, narrow face and brown hair. He would obviously stand out as a stranger. People would be less willing to trust him. But even here, when Asians were relatively rare, he knew he would still be deemed as handsome, and strikingly so, to members of the fairer sex. He had seen two young ladies stare at him, and when he looked back at them, immediately dropped their gazes and blushed.

Raito smiled charmingly. He knew he could bring this… talent to good use in due time.

But now, he has to lie low, find out who his counterpart is- and defeat…no, kill him.

But he knew he had the disadvantage of time. Hence he must strike as soon as possible.

Raito leaned back upon his chair in the dingy apartment. The new death note was sitting upon the table, its cover opened to show the first lined page. On it was written some words, over which the name George Endel presided. "Well," he smiled, counting out notes and coins from a bag next to him. "It looks like the question of money is settled for now. It really was easy to get him to give me the bag without arousing suspicion- and as expected, he died of that heart attack exactly when I wanted it last week. Stupid man. I guess I should be happy that somebody had already invented photography in this era… it really would have been bad if I had been sent to some medieval time. But I wonder… why here, and this time, of all things? I have thought about it, but I can't seem to think of any prominent detective, or thinker…"

Ryuk chuckled, eating an apple. "You will find out soon enough."

Raito turned away, a tiny frown creasing his chiseled features.

He had thought, idly, of restricting apples from Ryuk in order to make the latter suffer, but realized that the death-god's "withdrawal" symptoms would undoubtedly be a distraction to his planning. And besides, he would prefer something more long lasting than a minor discomfort for Ryuk. Thus for now, he would bide his time and wait. "I would rather have some time to plan, but since I have no alternative…" Raito's eyes glinted as he took up his pen. He drew the entire month's collection of newspapers (and even some from dates before) he had bought, salvaged and even stole- discreetly, from different places.

Looked through them, and then began to write.

"Eh, Raito?"

"Not now, Ryuk. Later." Raito's voice was impatient and harsh.

It was not until the clock chimed again did Raito look up from his work, the familiar feverish look in his eyes and manner. Three sides of the notebook were filled with names.

"It seems that Britain has a lot of criminals," mentioned Ryuk, who seemed to be doing aerobics on the floor. "I am quite surprised that a month's supply of newspapers would have that many convicts."

Slowly, Raito turned to face Ryuk.

"No. I am doing things differently now. Now, I want to immediately strike fear and awe into the hearts of people here- I am killing not only those criminals who have been captured, but also those who have been acquitted, accused of crimes, even minors…"

"Interesting," said Ryuk curiously. "Why the sudden change?"

"My utopia will have no room for any who makes mistakes, who does not toe the line with the first chance he/ she has." Raito's voice was hard. "I shall become the god of this country, and then, spreading my influence, perhaps control the world! I believe I will prove myself interesting… to your king."

Raito yawned, stretching himself.

_And now, to bring phase two into action._

* * *

Author's note: Some people have found it strange for Raito to have a disembodied head in the previous chapter, but it was done for a reason. I thought that the worse kind of hell to be in for Raito would be to be well aware of his own surroundings and intellect, and yet still is helpless in the nothingness.

If you liked this chapter, please review!


	4. Sympathy and Tenderness

Author's note: To all who reviewed, thank you so much! I'm sorry this chapter took some time to be put up, but my family has been going through a rather difficult period… all your reviews certainly has helped brightened my day, and given me hope to continue this fic. Hope you enjoy this chapter, and please review!

Chapter 3

Calling to his housekeeper for some cold beef and tea, the young man stowed the death note into his jacket and gave a contented sigh. He then took all the newspapers he had collected and shoved them into his cupboard, locking it behind him with a click. Ryuk was chewing the last of his apple thoughtfully. "Just now, I realized something. Why did you kill that human- the one whom you took the money from- by heart attack?" the demon asked. "Would it not be obvious to your rival that this incident could be linked to this sudden rise of heart attacks everywhere?"

"Don't you see?" Raito took in a sharp intake of breath. "I want him to know. I want him to guess. I will draw him out from where ever he is. And then I will kill him."

"Well I suppose you know I don't take sides…"

"I am _very _well aware of that, Ryuk."

"But I must warn you though," said Ryuk slyly, lying on the bed. "Your enemy is not going to be a very easy person to kill."

Raito made no reply. He had no doubt at all to his ability. Already he was on the move, familiarizing himself with his new surroundings, learning to understand the different accents of the British citizens around him- and he was well equipped with enough money and tools to accomplish his purpose.

Now the key thing to do was wait, and see how his adversary would act.

The housekeeper, a thin, ratty woman with slit eyes and a simpering look, soon came up the steps with Raito's tea. The fanatical glimmer in the latter's eyes instantly vanished, to be replaced with the bright open demeanor he commonly adopted to gain peoples' trust. "Mrs Morel?" asked Raito pleasantly, as the middle-aged woman put down her tray. "It is such a lovely day, and I have nothing pressing in the evening. Would you mind joining me for a cup of tea?"

Now, this woman, Mrs Morel, was a quick-witted soul, and she fancied herself as an accurate reader of characters. She was favorably impressed by this slim, handsome youth (despite his Asian origins), and thought him a very well-mannered, charming and polite boy. She was extremely curious as to his origins and intentions, but as he paid good money and was a quiet tenant, she was more than ready to keep her tongue lest she drove him away.

"Well…" she said doubtfully.

"Come," said Raito smoothly, getting up and drawing a chair for her. "Surely it would not be too much of your time to talk to me… I remember you telling me that you had no tenants for some time, and that you have no family or friends in this part of England. You… must be rather lonely."

"Oh yes, times have been bad, very bad, recently," murmured the middle-aged woman, setting herself and her creaking joints onto the chair with a sigh. "I have not had a tenant for a long time. After all, it is rather rare for people to come to this poor, desolate place. Indeed, I was about to pack up and leave when you came." She gave the young man opposite a suspicious look. She cleared her throat, holding tightly the cup of tea Raito had poured for her. "Forgive me if I sound impudent, sir. But why, would such a fine young man as yourself be doing in a place like this?"

Curious, Ryuk looked at Raito eagerly, desiring to know what the latter was concocting.

Raito started, and the housekeeper noticed with alarm that his hands were shaking, and his face was deathly pale. "Sir…?" Mrs Morel asked in concern, fearful that her only source of income (aside from her father's and husband's will) was going to drop dead. "Are you all right?" Raito turned his beautifully innocent eyes at her, and Mrs Morel saw with shock that he was tearing.

"I… I am sorry," he said, his voice cracking. He drew a long, shuddering breath. "It's just that… I came here, because of my wife." His voice grew very quiet, and he allowed the tears to continue falling. Raito knew that tears were a sure garner of sympathy and trust from a woman, and he needed to charm this housekeeper into doing his will. Ignoring the cackling laughter from Ryuk, Raito took out a cheap locket that he bought for this purpose. "You will never see this open. In this locket, there resides the only woman I have ever loved, and will ever love." His eyes shone passionately. "I was but a naïve young businessman when I met her. She was my wife, an Englishwoman… she cut herself off from her race to wed me, but she died soon after from illness. I… I have…" His voice cracked again. "I have come to visit her homeland, to see the beauty of the land that has fashioned and created such a woman of incomparable loveliness and gentleness."

He closed his eyes, maximizing the dramatic emphasis of his tragic story.

There was a long and pregnant pause.

"That is why I came here, to London… away from people so I can sit alone… and remember," he said dreamily, as though lost in his own world. "I hope you do not mind me mentioning it, but you do remind me somewhat of her, from your looks and manners." The carefully insinuated flattery was not lost on the woman, and Raito saw the quick blush that stole across the latter's features.

"Oh," Raito suddenly said, throwing back his head and giving a deliberately false laugh. "You must think me a weak and foolish man, for bearing my heart on my sleeve. But I am sorry, I just… I just miss her so."

"No… no… not at all. Oh, I'm just so sorry to hear of your loss," murmured the housekeeper in a very different tone, her heart softening despite herself. She could even feel herself tearing a little. "It is my fault… I should never have brought up such a terrible memory."

Under the pretext of brushing away his tears, Raito took the opportunity to study the effects of his story on the woman.

_Not too bad… almost there. Soon she will trust me entirely, and I can use her. Pah! All women are the same- silly, sentimental creatures. _

Hidden under his fingers, Raito allowed his lips to curve slightly; a sneer. It instantly vanished the next second, however, when Mrs Morel began to speak. "I understand your feelings, boy," she said, eyes glistening. "I had a husband too, once… we loved each other very much. But he died too; he was killed during a robbery… the authorities never did manage to find the killer." Her tone turned very bitter. "Or rather, the accused bribed the judge. He got off scot-free, while my husband lies six feet under the ground. I have long given up hope on our justice system."

Raito nodded gently, eyes shining with compassion. "I have seen the newspaper clippings and the photos you have on your mantelpiece. He… your husband, seems like a very fine gentleman indeed. I suppose," he said tentatively, fingers deliberately intertwining with each other. "I suppose you must hate that murderer very much."

"Yes!" She spat venomously. "I hope to God that he is rotting away somewhere… all criminals should go to hell!" Her hands on the table trembled.

Slowly, without taking his eyes off the woman, Raito reached out over his untouched beef and tea to grasp the woman's thin hand. She gave a small start, but Raito cut across her. "We both have been victims of such unfortunate circumstances… I wish there was something I could do to help." There was a tiny pause. Raito noticed with some satisfaction that the hand beneath his own (although shaking slightly) did not draw away, an indication that she was beginning to trust him. Then, completely in his projected image, Raito gave a small start, and quickly withdrew his hand as though realizing for the first time what he was doing. "I- I am sorry. I didn't mean to… to… violate you, or- or anything offensive." Raito's carefully constructed face was now a beet red as he stammered. "It's just, back home... it is the culture to hold the hand of the person who has suffered such a heavy loss… a gesture of compassion and sympathy. Please forgive me, I meant no harm."

"Haha… good one, Raito!" Ryuk laughed in the background. "She is completely taken in by your words."

"It's… it's all right," the woman croaked. She felt a hot flush creeping up her face, at the thought of those smooth hands cupping her own worn ones. "I… I think I have to go," she flustered, getting up quickly. The thin strands of golden hair flapped around her narrow sallow face. "I- I have chores… to do…" she said rather lamely. Raito arranged his face into a look of surprise, with just a touch of disappointment. "Oh… I am sorry for keeping you for so long. It has been a pleasure talking to you, I hope you would still continue giving me the honour." He stood up, walked over to the door and held it open for her.

"This really isn't necessary sir," she murmured as she walked forwards.

"Just common courtesy, madam." Raito inclined his head towards her, noting with satisfaction the flattered, although slightly confused expression on the woman's face.

Mrs Morel halted before him. "You really are such a pleasant young man, if it's all right for me to say so." She gave a small sigh. "It's been so hard to find someone who understands…Life is hard to a woman who is a widow. I just wish that my husband's case had been handled by Sherlock Holmes- He would have seen that justice be served." Her eyes flashed. "He once helped a dear old lady friend of mine (she has long passed away, God bless her soul)- but I doubt she would have rested in peace if that great detective had not found out her own husband's murderer…"

Raito froze.

_Sherlock Holmes? The legendary detective? But… but… he doesn't exist!_

_It can't be…_

_Unless…unless…_

At the back of the room, Raito could hear Ryuk issuing a rather strange laugh- a mixture between a snigger and a snort.

With an effort, he controlled and composed himself, fixing a concerned expression on his face. "Oh, you have to tell me about that someday. Have a good night." Raito smiled charmingly and closed the door as she left. As the heavy door swung shut, Raito gave a triumphant smile.

"Sherlock Holmes," whispered Raito, turning and staring at the death-god before him. "He actually exists… I should have guessed."


	5. Demon playthings

Author's note: To all my reviewers, thank you so much for your support! I really, really appreciate the comments, and will try to upload chapters as soon as possible!

Chapter 4

He gave Ryuk a hard look, with a strange, lop-sided smile that marred his handsome features. "Now I see why your demon friends are so keen on this game… You all are actually more powerful than you've led me to believe. We humans are but pawns for you all- you can pluck us out of time and death at a whim; we are your living cattle, to kill for your survival, to fight each other for your amusements."

Ryuk shrugged his wide shoulders, that fiendish grin and dripping fans unmoving before the young man.

Nevertheless, that feeling of anticipation, of competitiveness, flooded back to Raito at once. Even without the death-god's nod of acknowledgement, Raito knew that this was the man he would be facing. The greatest detective of all time- probably surpassing L, Near and Mello… "But then," he mused. "Surely it cannot be that easy to know his name." He cast the demon a swift, calculating look, and Ryuk gave that odd laugh again, staring at him intently with his huge eyes.

At once, Raito remembered.

Ryuk had laughed the same strange way when Naomi had told him her name for the first time.

"Sherlock Holmes," he said slowly. "It is a false name, isn't it?"

"Very smart, Raito." The death-god nodded approvingly. "It seems being dead had not addled your intelligence one bit."

"Well," Raito said lazily, ignoring the demon's last comment. "I guess I just have to wait and see how he would play my game then… Damn, I wish I had read more of his novels… if everything is more or less the same as what I remember of them, it should be easier to read him. I have made my opening move, let's see what he will do." Raito went back to the flimsy wooden table, picked up his knife and fork and started to eat. Although the tea was cold, and the beef slightly overcooked, Raito ate everything with a relish. He was exceedingly hungry, as he had not eaten anything yet since morning.

"Oi, Raito!"

"Yes, Ryuk?" Raito said nonchalantly, as he finished the last of his meal and came to the bed. Unless he was highly mistaken, the days after tomorrow were going to be extremely interesting.

"Heh, heh…I wanted to say that you acted very well just now, Raito. That woman sure was taken in by your pretty speech," Ryuk grinned, leaping up and perching himself on the chair Raito had just vacated. He grabbed an apple from the fruit basket on the middle of the table, and started to chew with ecstasy. "You definitely are not disappointing. Although… I have always wondered. Why did you choose to rent this place out of all the other rooms we saw?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Raito said, lying back on the bed and closing his eyes. "The other rooms had housekeepers who were much too talkative, and went out way too much for my liking. If I had taken residence there, sooner or later word would start circulating around London that a young Japanese man had arrived just before the spate of heart-attacks. I want Sherlock Holmes to guess, but not have too much concrete proof about who I am. But this woman here, is extremely isolated- no one calls on her, and she seldom goes out, save to buy groceries. And to my knowledge, she is not very well-liked here as well. That's why I followed her, that day, do you remember? To make sure. And besides," Raito pointed at a cabinet at the foot of his bed. "In there I have all my paints and costumes. Luckily I took a course in acting and make-up before, eh Ryuk? I can be a respectable businessman, a slovenly tramp or even a Chinese coolie. That is, of course, if my own housekeeper doesn't spill the beans on me."

"Anyway, what really clinched my decision were those press clippings and pictures she has framed up above her mantelpiece. What woman would so carefully cut out those newspaper articles and frame them? I at once guessed she was a widow, cherishing a burning hatred for the criminal who killed her husband, and probably both desperately lonely and bitter- there is a much higher chance that I can bend her to my will. I must charm her, and make her mine." His eyes coldly glittered. "A loyal trustworthy servant. Of course, her isolation is a bonus factor- after I'm done with her, disposing of her should not be too much of a problem."

"But Raito…"

"What is it?" The young man asked irritably. "I want to sleep."

"Why are you expanding so much effort to charm that woman? To me, she does not seem that important at all."

"Well, if I hadn't, I wouldn't have found out about Sherlock Holmes in the most unsuspicious way possible would I? And anyway, I do have my reasons. It wouldn't be interesting if I told you my plans so soon, would it?" Raito smiled coldly. "Be patient, you will find out soon enough." He turned and doused the bedside lamp. And all was quiet in the house, save for the occasional munch and crunch of some crunchy fruit being eaten.

* * *

"A telegram for you, dear," my dear wife said, coming to greet me as I stepped through the door.

"Oh, who is it?"

"It's from Holmes. Although he didn't mention why, he requests your presence urgently at his place."

I stifled an inward groan. I had been visiting patients since morning, and not yet had the opportunity to relax, or even to have a cup of tea and enjoy the daily newspaper. However, I knew Holmes very well, and I knew he would not summon me unless a new case had come up, in which either he requires my companionship, or feels it would be of interest to me as his unofficial biographer.

Hence, it was on that fateful windy afternoon when I made my way to my friend's house. The old housekeeper showed me to his rooms, and Holmes was playing his violin when I entered. His eyes were dreamy and unfocussed, and he made no motion as to indicate that he heard me enter the room. As I was used to his peculiar habits, I made no movement to disturb him, and crossed over to the other side of the room to look out of the window.

"What bad weather! I would be surprised to see anyone out," I murmured to myself. The sky was dark and overcast, and the usually crowded streets outside were desolate and empty, save for a few stray passersby who were hurrying along, no doubt seeking the safe shelter of their homes.

The pleasant music behind me suddenly ceased, and I turned.

Holmes had sprung up from his armchair, and his face had taken on that excited, eager disposition I have come to associate with his work. He was no more that languid, dreamy individual of music and philosophy. I have to say that I was expecting this, as it had been more than a week since the Dr Kissinger affair- ample time for Holmes to recover from his moody sentiments, and be ready to take on a fresh case. He now resembled a bloodhound, straining upon the leash for a chase.

"My dear doctor, I see you have had a hard day. I'm really sorry that I had to drag you here," said he, picking up his pipe for a smoke and handing me his pack of cigars.

I looked at him, astonished. "Why, how did you guess that, Holmes?"

"Well, your shoes gave you away," he said, bemused at the surprised expression on my face. "As I perceived it when you came in, they were slightly dusty, but not as dirty one would expect shoes to be when one goes walking around London. Hence, I deduced that you must have taken a hansom. As you walk when your appointments are few, I guessed that today must have been extremely busy for you to have to take a cab."

Holmes laughed as realization dawned upon me.

"Me dear Holmes," I cried. "You never cease to amaze me."

"Nonsense," he said, although from the twinkling of his eyes I knew he felt gratified. "It is all a matter of simple deduction, as I've often told you before."

The short silence that followed was suddenly broken by a violent ringing of the doorbell, which continued for several seconds before ceasing. Immediately afterwards, we could hear a loud clumping of boots up the stairs.

"Ah, I suppose that must be Lestrade," drawled Holmes, looking at the telegram he had picked from the table and throwing it back down again. "He's the reason why I asked you to come here today, Watson." Stooping, Holmes took out a bottle of brandy and a glass from a side-cabinet. "And judging by the incoherent nature of the telegram, I think one should be prepared," he said, as he set the items down on the table before him.

The next second, the door to the room swung open with such force that I could have sworn to have seen it shake at its hinges, as though it were about to fall off. "Dear God," cried Inspector Lestrade, bursting in and flinging his hat onto the table. "Dear God, this is a terrible business." His hands were trembling, and his ratty face was a sickly pasty white. I recognized at once the symptoms of a person had just undergone a serious shock. "It seems that God's judgment is upon us all."


	6. Friends and Foes

Author's note: Sorry for the delay in putting up this chapter, but I went for a holiday and only just returned. To all my reviewers, katanbuilder3, xcoolshamax, kaput, Ashark, Silver Shades of Gray, JWM, thepennameboo, Shin-Ora… and all the rest of you wonderful people, thanks so much for the reviews! They truly give me the encouragement and inspiration I need.

And to Haku's question about whether or not there will be any romance… I am going to add a major female character in the later chapters- but it will not be those sappy, ultra-romantic plots that make the characters out-of-character. One of my principal aims is to keep my characters true to their original selves. But that's all I'm going to be saying here :)

And well, hope you like this chapter, and please review!

Chapter 5

He sank down upon Holmes' armchair.

"Here Lestrade, take this, it will make you feel better," Holmes said, quickly pouring the glass of brandy and handing it over to the shaking inspector. Lestrade drank it gratefully, and a little colour returned to his pale cheeks.

"They're dead. They're all dead," Lestrade mumbled, finishing the drink with a gulp.

"I'm sorry," Holmes said gently. "But I can't really understand you. Who's dead?" Lestrade looked up at us with wild eyes. "Everyone! But mostly criminals… almost every criminal we have put in the London jail has died from a heart attack! And that's not the only issue at hand- other people have been dropping dead all over London, and all with heart attacks!"

Holmes did not say anything, but his face took on that closed, vacant expression he always assumed when doing hard thinking.

"The deaths," he finally said quietly. "Did they occur only in London?"

"Mostly- we do have some reports from the country-side, and the outskirts of London, but the majority comes from London…And all of those people died only within minutes of each other… We have been getting so many reports," Lestrade continued, wringing his hands in despair.

"When did this happen?"

"Oh, just starting yesterday. But the oddest thing is that, the first death was reported late in the afternoon, and continued all the way for an hour or so. After that, the reports just stopped."

Holmes closed his eyes. "That certainly is very interesting, Lestrade. Most of the deaths occurred in the span of two hours, with the majority in the first hour… this information certainly is very useful. Pray continue. Was there any suspicious activity among the inmates in the dates prior to this? Any odd letters?"

"No… no none at all. Some brawls, illness- the usual. Nothing on the scale of these mass heart-attacks!" Lestrade cried.

Although my mind was in shock at hearing of these strange occurrences, I could not help but notice the difference in behaviour between the two men. Lestrade was running his hand distractedly in his mousy hair, the other hand gripping the empty glass. Holmes on the other hand stared almost dreamily at the mantelpiece before him, his indifferent behaviour masking the rapidity of thought in that great brain of his. "Have the doctors examined the bodies for anything unusual? Possibility of poisons, diseases?"

"They have just been sent in for examination."

"Hmm…" Holmes closed his eyes. "I see only a few possibilities, each more unlikely than the next. This is an extremely singular case. Please send me the details of those who have died, and I hope to have at least some semblance of an answer for you in a few day's time."

"It seems like God's judgment has come upon us. I have to get back to office…" Lestrade shook his head mournfully as he got up. "We really are at a loss at Scotland Yard."

As the door swung shut behind the agitated Inspector, Holmes turned to look at me. I was leaning against the wall, hand still clutching the pack of cigars. My eyes were wide and I could feel the many beads of sweat upon my brow. My brain was sagging at the impossibility of what had transpired in this room, at the fantastic statement that had just been brought to the open. Indeed, I was almost expecting to awake at that point in time, so sure I was that this had to be a dream.

"What do you make of it, Watson?" he asked.

"I must confess myself bewildered," I said, sinking down on the sofa. "Never in my life have I ever heard of anything so bizarre. Men and women dying of heart attacks spontaneously… Much as I am disinclined to think it, do you believe that the day of God's judgment upon us all?"

There was a short silence.

"Don't you remember what I said once?" Holmes murmured at last, smoking his pipe thoughtfully. "If all other options fail, then the one remaining has to be the truth, unlikely as it sounds. And now, let us consider the facts. People (who, according to Lestrade, were mostly in the prime of their health) all around the London have suddenly died, being stricken by heart-attack. It's impossible for this to be a coincidence. What mortal man has this sort of power, to inflict such judgment upon his fellowmen?" He frowned. "I have read many books that spoke of the supernatural, but this is entirely new to me."

I felt my heart sinking. "So you are saying that all these… I don't know… killings, are being done by God? Could it not be possible for this to be a carefully organized attack on people by a group of criminals?"

"I have considered that possibility," said Holmes, brows furrowed in thought. "And yet, the more I think about it, the less likely it seems. A mass killing of this scale, and of individuals in different corners of London- the impeccable timing, the ruthlessness of the act- it is extremely improbable that a large organization is behind this. Someone would have definitely talked, or I would have gotten wind of such a group from my network of spies all across England. And according to Lestrade, there were no odd notes or any change in behaviour in the inmates prior before they died. So where is the motive? How would killing criminals and civilians help anyone, if he just remains in the shadow? Hence, eliminating that option, it seems to me that it must be either the work of a supernatural being, or the work of an individual gifted (or should I say, cursed) with such destructive powers, who is keen to impose his idea of a just world."

"However," Holmes frowned. "If this is really the work of an individual, I must say he has a curious indifference towards the killing of his own kind."

"Might it not be one of our enemies, out to weaken our country by killing our fellowmen?" I tried.

Holmes shook his head. "Unlikely. Don't you find it interesting that it is mostly the criminals who are being killed? And they are all British? I think we can safely say that the killer, if he is a man, currently resides in England, and very likely in London itself. I can almost guarantee that when Lestrade sends his report to me, all of those unfortunate people would have been associated with some crime or another. It seems that the killer has brought it upon himself to administer justice, to rid our country of crime. All things point towards the act of a supernatural being, and yet, and yet… I doubt it. The killer's power is limited. Why were not all the criminals in London killed? Why were some chosen to die and some not?"

"And also, why all the secrecy? Does he want us all to believe that he is God?"

Holmes started to pace the room, head bowed and hands clasped tightly behind him. "If the man can really control deaths- why did he choose to kill them at a particular time in the afternoon? To claim credit for all later heart attacks occurring at that time? Another plausible reason could be that he wanted to go public- sure that the newspapers would report by today the sudden surge in heart attacks. However, it seems that the police managed to keep quiet the deaths in prison, and the killer did not kill that many civilians to garner mass concern. If that is not the case, then what is his motive? Why the sudden move?"

"And the way in which the criminal chooses his victims- I have a feeling that we are dealing with someone relatively young. Who, but the young, would have the passion and desire to use such power for such means? He is likely to be a British citizen, with a, however warped it may be, strong sense of justice," he mused.

There was a small pause.

Suddenly, in a fit of temper, Holmes struck the table a mighty blow. "But by God!" he cried. "All I have are merely theories- I need facts to build my case! What I have now are but mere bits and pieces, and all my hypothesizing is useless without concrete evidence to substantiate them!"

Then, with a sudden force of movement, Holmes caught hold of my arm with his eyes boring into my own. "Watson." His voice trembled slightly. "I fear that we are facing some dangerous and ruthless criminal, in the guise of justice, who will be willing to kill any that gets into his way. You have a wife to take care of, while I have only myself. It would be selfish on my part to ask you to bear with me this burden, to see this killer to the gallows. Anytime we may ourselves be victims to this man's curse. So if you wish to not join me in my investigation, I understand."

I was shocked, although a little touched, to see my friend's eyes (so usually expressionless) full of emotion as he gripped my arm.

"Holmes," I began, and then stopped. Ashamed, I saw in my mind's eye the worried face of my wife, and the feeling of impending danger and death that would come should I take up this case with Holmes. My soul longed for the comfort of my home, in which I would be free from such worries and be safe in ignorance. And yet, I am the only man in this world whom Holmes would readily trust, his friend. How can I shirk away from my friend, and still call myself a gentleman of honour?

"Holmes," I said firmly. "I have never once rejected you in all the times you called upon me to be your companion, and I am not about to start. I swear upon my honour that I will follow you and help you in whatever way I can in this case."

"Thank you, Watson. Thank you." Holmes voice was thick with suppressed emotion as he drew his hand away. "I have never doubted that I could count on you."

Then, with customary ease, Holmes instantly changed back into his usual self, eyes dark and shielded, and his voice brisk. "Now we must wait for Lestrade's report before we can do anything more. I suggest you come back here tomorrow morning at nine, Watson." He gave me a small smile. "And I think it is best you spend some time with your wife now, and prepare her… I do not know whether you, or even I, will come out of this alive," he said blandly.

I took my leave from his apartment, and hailed a hansom home. As the horse clopped dully onwards, I must confess that for the first time I felt utterly desolate- how could we fight against such a criminal, with his unthinkable powers?


	7. Illusions

Author's note: Once again, thank you all so much for all your reviews! And to Norcena T. Calamus, yes you are right. When I re-read the chapter again, I realized that I did go a tad too far with Holmes' reasoning. Thanks for bringing that to my attention, and it won't happen again! I will rein in his intelligence a bit J

Hope you all like this chapter, and please review!

Chapter 6

"Hey Raito…" said Ryuk, peering over Raito's shoulder at the daily newspaper. "Your plans to go public have not been successful- nothing of the heart-attacks has been reported."

"Don't worry," said Raito, gently stroking the tattered cover of the death-note. "It won't be long now. The police will not be able to keep the deaths from the public by tomorrow."

"Why? How do you know?"

"Because," said Raito smiling. "Some breeds of people never change. A secret note, a bribe, a threat… and I now have both police and newspapers unwittingly doing my will. I will see what I want on the cover of this newspaper by tomorrow. Oh, this is just too easy," said Raito arrogantly.

There was a short silence.

"However," murmured Raito. "I will not be too conceited this time… the only reason why Near and Mello could bring me down before was because I became too proud- this time I shall spare no expenses or hours to make sure that the same thing will never happen again." His eyes took on a maniacal glint. "I WILL become a god this time."

* * *

And the next day, just as Raito had predicted, the newspapers ran their story on the heart-attacks. Feeling pleased, Raito was just about to tuck into the news with a cup of tea in hand, when suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

"A letter for you, sir," came the housekeeper's voice.

"Oh. Coming," said Raito, going to the door and opening it. He felt extremely puzzled indeed, for he could not think of any whom he felt would have sent him a letter. "Thank you, Mrs Morel. I will attend to it at once." He quickly shut door.

Opening the letter, he stood there, motionless, as he read.

"What is it, Raito?" asked Ryuk, sitting on the bed.

I KNOW WHO YOU ARE, AND I DO LOVE YOUR NOTEBOOK. MEET ME AT 12 AT THE PAVILION. TABLE OVERLOOKING THE STREET AT THE FURTHEST RIGHT-HAND CORNER. IF YOU DO NOT COME, I SHALL REVEAL YOUR IDENTITY TO THE POLICE.

A.

Raito stared at the note, stupefied. Glancing at his watch, he was horrified to see the hands at forty-five minutes past eleven. Should he go? Was it a joke?

No. It cannot be. Whoever it was, the writer knew about the death-note. Had another death-note fallen from the sky?

There was no time to think.

Fifteen minutes.

Crushing the note into a ball, Raito quickly threw it into his fireplace. "Come, we have to move," said Raito to Ryuk, throwing on his cloak and dashing out onto the landing. "There is still time."

It was a beautiful afternoon, one of those rare glorious days in rainy London. Settling himself down at a pleasant café, Raito waited. Although the pale, freckled waiter had been somewhat reluctant to give the Asian man a seat, thinking that the latter's yellowed skin would no doubt shatter the ambience of white and chase away potential guests- a lazy flick of several pounds soon sent the waiter scurrying for the best seats in the restaurant.

"I-I am sorry, if I am late," a sweet gentle voice said, as Raito was perusing the menu absently, his thoughts in a whirl. "I was caught up by the mess of traffic, and have only just reached." Instinctively, Raito instantly jumped up and bowed.

As he tilted his head, he took the opportunity to view his counterpart in a detailed light.

"Of course not. In fact, I am honoured that such a woman as you has agreed to grace me with your presence."

Fair, slim and comely in appearance- the young woman was one who would definitely turn heads at any party. However, Raito was on his guard. Anyone who sent him such a letter as he just received is extremely dangerous- and unless he could make use of her, she must be eliminated. "Oh, that really is too much praise," she laughed. "But quite honestly, I doubt you are here simply to flatter me, my dear sir." Her eyes glittered coyly.

"Well, before we get down to business, may I know your name? Ms-?" Raito asked, acting indifferent although inwardly he was seething with excitement. The woman just looked at him, one eyebrow raised. "Do you honestly think that I am going to tell you?"

Raito dropped all pretense, the fear and frustration in him reaching almost boiling point.

"Then what is it that you want? I am in no mood for games," hissed Raito impatiently. How the devil did she know? Was she going to expose him? No… knowing who he is was impossible- he had been extremely careful in his methods and concealment… how then, did she know? He considered taking her out there and then using his strength- but with the presence of other waiters and guests, coupled with a police station just opposite, Raito decided prudently to wait.

"Temper, temper," she said irritatingly, waving a slender finger at him. "I am hungry- I can't discuss business on an empty stomach." Calling for a waiter, she opened the menu before her. "Hmm… I think I would like to start with some appetizers…"

After poring over the menu in which she spent around ten minutes picking and rejecting assorted foods, she finally turned her attention to the impatient Raito. The latter, although normally cool and calm- was having difficulty concealing his frustration at this enigmatic girl. "Haha, Raito," said Ryuk softly behind his ear. "This is certainly amusing. She is making you even more uncomfortable than when you were with L."

"So, what would you like?"

"I… I am not hungry," said Raito stonily.

"Oh, but you must eat," she pouted. "It isn't polite for a gentleman on a lunch date with a lady to be disinclined to eat."

Raito stared at her.

"All right," he said finally. "I will have the Fish and Chips then." Raito gave the waiter an extremely forced smile. The latter bowed and went away briskly.

There was a silence, in which the woman wiped her mouth daintily on a napkin.

"Now that we have ordered our food, will you please tell me what is going on here?" Raito asked at last, trying to inject an element of confusion and bewilderment in his voice.

The woman just looked at him, tossing her dark brown hair. "Do not lie to me, sir. You know as well as I do what I mean."

"I don-"

"The fact that you came is evidence enough. An innocent man would have merely scoffed at the note, thinking it the workings of some random prankster," cut in the woman smoothly. "But you came. Obviously my presence and what I know worry you. And right now, I have you in my power."

Raito sat up rigidly in his chair, glaring at the woman opposite. Much as he disliked admitting it, he knew that she was right.

"You have no proof to back up what you say," said Raito, leaning back upon his chair. "Indeed, I can go to the police headquarters right now, and accuse you of threatening me."

"Oh please be sensible," said the woman, in an annoying patronizing manner. "Let us see who they will believe- a respectable young Englishwoman, or some immigrant Japanese of shady background?" She smiled. "At a snap of my fingers, I can land you in prison and perhaps the gallows."

"But I have to say, you are extremely lucky. I am a firm supporter of your beliefs and methods, and am here to help you. Although, of course, as at all business transactions- such aid must come at a price," her eyes glinted. "I know that you can only kill if you know the name and face of your victim- and I assure you, you will never be able to find out my real name unless I tell you. And as to how I know…" she smiled.

"Let's just say that I have my sources."

The waiter arrived with their food.

"I must say that I admire you," she continued almost dreamily, toying with her peas and potatoes like some overgrown schoolgirl. "To have that much power- and using it to shape society into a world full of good people. And seeing how you have acted- I know you are an extremely intelligent person." She winked.

"But then, I also know that you are exceedingly dangerous. I will not tell you all I know... for now. I warn you though," said the woman quietly. "If you ever even think of killing me, I have safeguards in place that will reveal your secret to the world. And to set the record straight- even if you have my real name, it will not be of use to you. The moment I die-" she grinned. "Those safeguards will instantly activate."

"I… understand," said Raito. "So what, exactly, is it that you want from me?"

"Well, although I support your methods and ideas- I do have my own personal agendas." Her thin lipped smile made her look intensely predatory, so different from the girlish image she had presented before. "There are… some people… who are making life rather difficult for me. They do not support my actions and attitude, and think I am a disgrace to the family name. My own inheritance now is at risk."

"So… you want me to kill them off for you?"

"Yes, I do," she said matter-of-factly. She pushed across the table a list of names with photos attached. "They have earned my ire. Eliminate them."

"And I take it that they have not committed any crimes?"

She took a sip from her glass of wine. "They irritated me. That is criminal enough."

It was taking Raito a lot of effort to control himself. He was god, not some dog to be kicked around and forced to do his master's bidding. However, as of now, he knew he had to swallow his pride and act subservient.

_Sooner or later, she will make mistakes._

_Sooner or later, she will come to trust him._

_And when the time comes…_

"My father is an extremely well-connected businessman, and I can help you get any information that you need- as long, of course, you continue to do as I say. And right now I will be your strongest ally… I know who you are up against, and I will help you defeat him."

She bent close to him. "Sherlock Holmes ruined my life years ago. I hate him with so much passion that I will never rest until he is dead."

"Kill him for me."

Hearing these words, Raito's lips curled into a smirk.

_Perhaps God is on my side, after all. _

"Well, I suppose that this is all for today. I also want you to meet me once a week for updates," she said, as she rose from her chair. "I will tell you the address by mail."

Without waiting for a reply from Raito, she turned to go.

"Oh! And please pay, will you, handsome?" So saying, the young woman sauntered gaily away and out onto the street.

The fish and chips before him had gone cold.


	8. Breakthrough

Author's note: I know many of you are curious about the mysterious woman's identity, but I'm not revealing anything because it would spoil the fun! I hope you all like how the fic is progressing so far, and that you all enjoy reading this chapter. Please review! Thanks so much to all those who have reviewed, and been reviewing- they really mean a lot to me.

Chapter 7

Ryuk dared not say anything to Raito on the walk home. Black-faced and looking thunderous, Yagami Raito was having a most volatile disposition. It was one of those days in which everything goes wrong- a drunkard pushed him to the ground and called him offensive racist names; a hansom going by had splashed him from head to foot with water.

Finally reaching his quarters, Raito stripped himself of his wet clothing and flung himself naked on the bed. He was much too preoccupied to bother toweling himself dry or to have a bath. He was furious, and he had to show it otherwise he would explode. Unfortunately, he lacked the privacy of his own house, and did not want to cause so huge a racket that the poor, devoted widow would come calling on him. Hence, Raito was forced to start pummeling his own pillow in anger.

"How. Does. She. Know?" Raito snarled. "Ryuk, do you know anything about it?"

"No," said Ryuk, eating an apple idly. "I saw no death-god near the woman. Her sources must have come from somewhere else."

Raito said nothing.

It hurt his pride, being forced to work for such a woman. But he knew that she in time, would be exceedingly useful to her operations. If she had been telling the truth, that she is very influential and rich- she would be able to find information and go to places in which a young Japanese man would not be able to.

Raito at once recognized her greatest strength- her seemingly naïve and innocent manner made people underestimate her, giving her an enormous advantage over her counterpart. Despite being spoilt, she has shown herself to be remarkably intelligent and shrewd. Unlike Misa Misa, Raito knew that this woman, although supportive of his actions, would no doubt turn on him just as fast if she ever got the hint that he was going to double-cross her.

But he knew, that with enough time, he would be able to exploit her vulnerabilities and win her over. Although he was now suffering a temporary loss, he knew that he would prevail at the end-game.

There was no question.

He had to.

* * *

When I called upon No. 221B Baker Street at nine the next day, my heart was heavy within my breast. Although my Mary had taken the news relatively well, I still could not forget the storm of crying and her begging me to not join Holmes on the case. It broke my heart to see her tears, and I have to admit that I am a sentimental man. My strength wavered at that point, but I remembered the oath I had sworn to Holmes and had to stand firm. Finally my wife relented, beseeching me to take care of myself.

The kindly old housekeeper showed me to Holmes' room. The great detective was already up, and was poring through a pile of papers that no doubt were Lestrade's report.

"It looks like Lestrade has over exaggerated things," said Holmes, frowning as he flipped through the report. "From what he said, I was expecting to see a lot more jailed convicts dead."

"And it also appears that some of the people who had died were falsely accused- but their acquittals were not yet made public when they were struck down by the heart-attacks. It is a poor god if he keeps making many errors of judgment. Many of my assumptions (much as I dislike to make them without concrete facts, but this matter is so pressing I had no alternative) made yesterday are now proving to be true. A few well-placed phone calls, and I am extremely certain that none of our Western neighbours have had the same problem. So the problem lies in England, and likely London itself," said Holmes. "Now, I think our criminal is a human using England as his testing ground for his recently acquired new powers… But," Holmes brought his fingers together, and his brow darkened. "But information is still sparse and insufficient!"

"Is he only seeking to eliminate crime from England, or is his aim much more complex?"

"Where is the motive?"

"What is the end?"

"And there is something missing," muttered Holmes again, staring at the list of names. "I know I am missing something crucial…There has to be something that links all these victims together- why they were chosen and not others. Come on, think! Where the devil has all my deductive skills gotten to?"

I knew it was best to leave Holmes alone when he was in that mood, for he was exceedingly irritable when interrupted in his thinking. Picking up a crumpled newspaper from the table, I stared stupefied at the large headlines.

"The press… knows?" I said, flipping over to the page which screamed of the unnatural deaths. _Criminals dead of heart attacks! London's prisons emptied! Is this God's hand of justice out to correct the evils of society? Will justice prevail?_

"Yes. Damn incompetence on the part of the police, to have let the press know! Some stupid fool at the police headquarters must have babbled," said Holmes, brow still angrily knitted together. "Although of course, I have to say it is very hard to keep so many deaths a secret- but if they're not careful, we are going to have a national uproar in our hands."

There was a silence.

Seeing that Holmes' face still looked taut and tensed, I quietly took a seat opposite him.

"Well," I mused to myself, throwing down the newspaper again. "Printing is truly a remarkable invention. It's the best way to get news from all over the world to the public. Anyhow, what have you got there, Hol-"

Suddenly, Holmes gave a cry. Startled, I looked at him- he was on his feet, staring at me with those bright, keen eyes of his.

"Oh my God! I've got it. What will I ever do without you Watson?" Holmes shouted, rushing towards me and grabbing the newspaper from my startled hands. "You have just given me the missing link! The people who were killed- all appeared in the newspapers for some crime or another. And yet- according to Lestrade's report of the deaths, I am very sure that not all who appeared in the newspapers died. In fact, a great majority did not."

I stared at him, dumbfounded.

"So it seems that he is not God after all- The limitations of the killer's powers are now becoming clearer." Holmes said, rubbing his hands with glee. "Well now, I must hurry!"

Taking his quill and ink bottle, Holmes hastily scribbled a message on a piece of paper. Folding up the blotted and smudged paper, Holmes snatched up his cloak and dashed out of the apartment. Used as I was to his peculiar habits, I have to admit that his sudden leaving without explanation rankled at me a bit. However, I knew that he definitely had his reasons, and all would be explained the moment he stepped over the threshold of this room again.

A few hours passed before my friend came back, and I took the opportunity to read the newspaper with greater detail. Although I was full of horror at the manner in which these mass killings were conducted, I was extremely sure that there would be some, or perhaps many, who would condone these murders of criminals. I have to admit that our justice system had problems with its legal infrastructure, and many have expressed (although discreetly) their disapproval and displeasure. Ashamed, I felt a tiny bit of doubt worrying me at the back of my mind. If the person doing these killings was doing so for the purpose of ridding society of evil, would not the world become a better place- populated by caring, kind individuals, with a negligible crime rate? There is no better deterrent to crime than the fear of death hanging over the heads of the people, and this time, from an unknown source that seems to transcend normal human limitations to administer justice.

But no, I thought determinedly. One should not impose fear and terror in order to build a stable, prosperous empire. That in itself, is criminal. To murder people without mercy, and at the whim and fancy of the killer, is nothing short of the monstrous.

I heard footsteps, and knew that my friend had returned.

"I guessed right," Holmes said with satisfaction, as he entered through the door. He poured out a glass of brandy for himself. "The killer needs both a name and a face to kill. All those people who died appeared in newspapers from about a month ago until now. And all," he emphasized, "had their names and photographs published." He settled himself upon his favourite chair. "Don't you remember Anthony Rockswell?"

"Oh yes," I said. "London's most famous newspaper editor, if I remember correctly."

"Quite so, Watson. I helped him out in a tight spot many years ago, when he was still unknown and penniless. I went to ask him to repay the favour, and wrote him a note asking him to check up the records of the list of names Lestrade gave me. I got an answer within the hour… Rockswell certainly is a very efficient fellow."

"But," I said, trying to emulate my friend's deductive processes, "I had watched the clock, and you were gone for hours! And look! Your shoes are extremely dusty and grimy, and your suit stained- where else did you go? Surely you did not go walking around London?"

Holmes gave a laugh, and took another sip of brandy. "Very astute, Watson. However, you failed to notice these brownish stains of unusual texture upon my cuffs- which would have told you of my whereabouts. These stains can only come from the London prisons, due to the rather unique type of dirt that thrives there. I went there first, before visiting the residences of those citizens who had also died of such heart-attacks."

"Did you have any luck?" I asked eagerly.

A shadow descended upon Holmes' aquiline face, and I instantly guessed that the result was far from satisfactory.

"No, not at all. The only concrete evidence which I have at the moment is that the killer's power is limited, and that he resides in London (for I found out that some of the victims were publicized in newspapers exclusively circulated around London). I didn't notice this link before because most of these victims were from solved cases- I seldom remember those because it would only clutter up mental storage space. I only remember names from unsolved cases, in case some future development might cast some light upon them." He took a puff from his pipe. "And I could find no unusual occurrences in the days or months preceding the victims' unfortunate demise. Family members and close associates have often expressed that the victims were in good health, cheerful, no odd changes in temperament- indeed, the only thing that happened which was out of place was them suddenly dying by heart attacks."

"And anyway," he said, looking at his watch. "I summoned Lestrade here… He should be arriving quite soon. Much as I dislike the man, he is one of the most influential men of the Scotland Yard… it is likely that I will have need for its manpower in the future."

True to his word, around five minutes later, there was another violent explosion of the doorbell.

Lestrade entered, his bull-dog face still as pale as it was yesterday . "What is it, Holmes? I rushed over as soon as I got your message," he panted.

Holmes held out the newspaper.

"This is an answer to one of our key problem."

Lestrade started stupefied at it for a few seconds, before spluttering, with his face turning purple. "A newspaper? Is this one of your jokes, Holmes? If it is, I don't find it very funny. I am a busy man and-"

"No, I have never been more serious in my life," cut in Holmes levelly. "The killer uses the names and faces of people in the newspapers to murder. While the methods employed by the criminal to kill still eludes me, I have found out certain limitations of the killer." Quickly, he highlighted to Lestrade all that we had discussed and found out earlier.

"This eliminates the possibility of this being done by a god… as you had so kindly alerted us to the notion," concluded Holmes blandly, with a touch of sarcasm.

However, this subtle variation in tone was lost on the police inspector, whose rat-like features were now positively glowing at what Holmes had just said. "Remarkable," he exclaimed. "Your discoveries will certainly be of use to Scotland Yard! I know now the route we must take, if we are to stop these killings."

Holmes raised his eyebrows. "Indeed?"

Lestrade puffed out his chest. It was actually a rather pathetic sight, seeing this thin and ratty man posturing about. "We must alert all the newspapers! Every arrest has to be made in secrecy… and none is to publish any photographs or details of the criminals- without these details, the murderer will be helpless, right?"

"Don't you understand?" said Holmes impatiently. "Censoring the newspapers is not going to accomplish anything. You see the way in which the killer operates. He is not going to stop even if the newspapers cease publishing such cases… What I suggest is-"

"Holmes," said Lestrade grandly, puffing out his chest even further. "I have my methods, and you have your own. I see no other alternative but to take immediate and forceful action- It is necessary to stop more deaths!" Picking up his hat, Lesetrade hastily bid us good-bye and scurried away, no doubt to evoke the force of the law against all publishing agencies in England.

"Fool," muttered Holmes under his breath.

The door swung closed.


	9. The Pen

Author's note: To my reviewers thanks so much for the reviews! I apologize that this took some time to be put up, for I was forced to revise my story due to a plot hole. And to Koji: I am really honored that you took time to come up with your own interpretation of the woman's identity, but I'm keeping mum about this issue!

Chapter 8

Ryuk gave a dry chuckle at the newspaper's bold headlines.

"Hey, so what are you going to do now, Raito? You don't have the internet, and it seems like the newspapers are too scared to print any more articles about criminals…" Ryuk took a bite from the apple Raito had bought him. "How are you going to continue?"

The young man paused for a while, thinking. "The police must be putting their foot down upon these newspapers…"

"But, on the other hand," Raito said thoughtfully. "Holmes, if he is anything like L, would never condone such an action. And judging by his fame, it is likely that the police are extremely jealous… especially… now what was that man's name?" Raito thought hard. "Ah yes, Lestrade, as Watson called him in the memoirs."

He smirked.

"Holmes definitely would have told the police to not make such a move. But unlike L, Sherlock Holmes does not have the power to override the actions of Scotland Yard. I can definitely make use of this, Ryuk."

"But now…" Raito just smiled, and slowly took out one of the press clippings he had saved for emergencies. Flipping open the death note to a fresh page, he got out his pen. "Don't underestimate me."

And he began to write.

"Are you Mr. John Franklin?"

"Yes," said the editor of London's most prominent newspaper, with a bite of impatience. "My clerk told me you have something important for me. Well what is it? I am a busy man."

"A letter for you, sir. Of great importance," said the messenger, with an odd, emotionless voice as he handed over the note. He was a young man, very well-built, with a tiny clipped moustache over his thin pale lips.

The editor blanched as he flipped open the letter addressed to him. Written in large bold caps, were the following words.

I AM JUSTICE. AS PROOF, I WILL KILL THE MAN WHO GAVE YOU THIS. HE WAS CONVICTED OF ROBBERY, BUT WAS RELEASED DUE TO LACK OF EVIDENCE.

IF YOU DO NOT DO AS I SAY, I WILL KILL YOU, YOUR SUBORDINATES, AND YOUR ENTIRE FAMILY, FOR YOU WILL BE IN THE WAY OF JUSTICE. I WANT YOU TO REQUEST READERS TO SEND IN PHOTOS AND NAMES OF PEOPLE WHO HAVE WRONGED THEM, AND PRINT THEM.

IF YOU DO NOT DO THIS, I WILL START KILLING YOUR FAMILY MEMBERS ONE BY ONE, BEFORE I KILL YOU. THAT IS MY FINAL WARNING.

Before he could question the man who had handed him the paper, the latter suddenly gave a small cry, turned pale and fell to the floor clutching his heart. Full of horror, the editor instinctively ran to get some brandy, hoping that it might help before he called for medical aid. However, it was too late. The young man gave one last shudder, and fell back, clearly dead.

The editor, shaken and drained, picked up his phone with trembling hands and dialed.

Holmes studied the note intently. "Come Watson," he suddenly said, handing me the letter. "What do you make of it?"

"Well…" I said, eyeing the paper and trying to use the same deductive process as my friend's. "The man seems to be of a remarkable character- the writing is forceful, and emphatic. However, the paper is of quite flimsy quality, of a common sort, usually used by the lower classes…"

"Precisely so, Watson. As you can see, the ink has seeped through the paper as well. And judging by the shape of the ink blots, the writer used a pen, not a quill. But look at this!" He brought the letter closely to his eyes, and said, "This man used no ordinary pen."

"What do you mean, Holmes?"

"Look at the way the words were written. The letters are almost perfectly printed, and smooth throughout every line. Indeed, this letter was written with a Waterman pen!"

I gasped. "You mean to say those luxury pens boasted by the upper class and the aristocracy?"

"Quite right, my dear Watson. Those pens are only found in America, and precious few have trickled over to us- they cost a king's ransom. Now, would you not expect that someone using such flimsy and low-quality paper, would in turn have used, say, perhaps those scratchy, and easily broken nibs used by children in our common schools? That would have pointed us in the direction of the lower class... but then, on the contrary, I am sure the writer would have known his language and actions points otherwise. It is almost as though the criminal did this deliberately, but for what purpose?"

"Perhaps the man is not comfortable with using a nib?" I tried.

"Maybe so… but if that's the case, where did he get the money?" Holmes started to pace, his eyebrows deeply furrowed.

"And besides," he continued, "the killer probably might have made use of the pen in order to throw us off track."

Holmes took a deep breath. "We are treading in very dangerous waters. The man we are dealing with is exceedingly dangerous, ruthless… and worse still, every instinct in my body is pointing to the idea that we may be dealing with someone as cruel and ingenious, or even worse, than Moriaty himself."

There was a silence, in which Holmes looked ghastly pale in the tiny light of the room.

Holmes frowned, staring at the scrap of paper.

"I only have the quality of the pen to work on… and it seems as though the writer is extremely sure we cannot track him through this." He started to pace, eyes flashing and face increasingly flushed. "If he really is of the upper class, then that narrows our search considerably. Precious few people even have that sort of money to spend on pens. But then, if he is not… where else did he get the money?"

Closing his eyes, Holmes stood rigidly against the table.

"The only other possibilities I have is that he is threatening one of them with death, and hence black-mailing that unfortunate person to get what he wants. But then, judging by the way in which the killer operates, he seems very individualistic- not likely include another in his plans, even at the point of blackmail. Someone might talk, or find out and expose him- I doubt the killer would be willing to take such a risk."

Suddenly, Holmes gave a tiny cry. "My God! What a fool I've been! Of course!" He turned to my confused self, talking quickly. "Don't you remember that newspaper article? Of Sir George Endel who died of a heart attack? I had put little thought to it at that point in time, for although he is a fit and robust man, I knew such tragedies could strike without reason. I thought he was merely a victim of that; now I think he is a victim of much sinister causes. And as I told you before, he is immensely wealthy- one of the few who had the fortune to purchase over twenty Waterman pens. Remember it was reported that he left the house for a rather long period of time? And it was just as he stepped over the threshold of his house that he was seized by that heart attack? Doesn't that strike you as similar to the messenger who fell down dead in the editor's office? Why didn't I see it before?"

"And now I have to make some inquires." He grabbed his overcoat and hat. "There are cigars on the table, and the spirit case is over there. Just sit and wait for me, Watson! I ought not to be long."

It was a few hours later before he returned, and from his haggard clothes and overcast features, I knew his expedition had not gone well. "Damn and blast!" He muttered. "I was too late. No one at the house knew of what Sir Endel did before he died, or where he went. Apparently he did those kinds of isolated expeditions all the time. I asked around the neighborhood, but found no trail. However, I do know that he left the house with a bulky bag, but when he returned it had gone."

"So you are saying that that bag contained money?" I asked, thunderstruck.

"I'm sure of it. There's no other possibility. That and the fact that the squabbling inheritors of Endel's wealth all noticed a sizeable amount missing from his accounts… they are right now blaming each other for it." Holmes turned away to get his pipe.

"I think the killer can control both the manner and timing of death. And out of all the wealthy people in London he was the only one reported for a crime at that time period. So why did the killer choose him? That means that either he only had his power at that time, or he must have only entered England during that time. But then," said Holmes, pacing. "There were many other disgraced aristocrats before George Endel- so why was he chosen and not others? Could the perpetuator have a personal grudge against him? If that is so, then it narrows the possibilities too. Sir George Endel was relatively unknown except among his own privileged circle… until that newspaper article appeared. "

Damn!" cursed Holmes. "I wish I didn't have to go through this case with so little facts- I dislike it when we are only working with assumptions."


	10. Deception

Author's note: Thank you reviewers, for your great and supportive comments! They are really the only things that are keeping me going… thanks a lot! Oh, and to Norcena, did you get the emails I sent? And thanks for the comment, I didn't think of that… I'll try to work it into the coming chapters. Thanks for the heads-up! Now hope you all enjoy this chapter, and please review.

Chapter 9

"My name is Elizabeth. Elizabeth Morel."

"Elizabeth." The young man nodded, and gave a small smile. "That is a lovely name."

"Sir," she had asked, almost shyly. "Then may I know what your name is?"

There was a pause.

"My name," he replied, eyes boring into her own. "Is Light."

* * *

Although she had been slightly apprehensive at first of her exotic visitor, Mrs Morel soon found herself warming up to her young, quiet tenant. He was so effusive, polite and compassionate- that Mrs Morel began to look forward to the daily tea sessions which Raito had suggested for them to become better acquainted. Unlike all the others, Raito never once lost patience when she lapsed back into one of her bitter monologues of life, nor turned hostile she kept harping on the past. Mrs Morel soon found herself pouring out her heart to him.

Raito was slowly but surely drawing her out of her shell. And not only that, she had begun to feel subtle stirrings in heart whenever she looked at him, and felt inordinately pleased whenever Raito flattered her.

"I'm old enough to be his mother," said the housekeeper to herself, absently polishing a photo frame bearing the picture of her late husband. "This is just not right." But all the same, although she repeated that statement firmly to herself all the time, her thoughts frequently dwelt upon the handsome Raito. She had also started to take better care of her appearance before having tea with him- adorning herself with cheap and gaudy trinkets, and doing up her hair with fastidious care.

Mrs Morel felt most gratified when Raito noticed her efforts- and his comments filled her with pride and happiness.

And just as Raito had calculated, Mrs Morel was slowly but surely falling for him. "See, Ryuk?" Raito had sneered, when the housekeeper had left (rather reluctantly) after one of their afternoon teas. "She has already fallen for my charms… and with her, my plans shall surely succeed."

The death god looked baffled. "What plans?"

Raito just looked at him, and Ryuk got the message. "Knowing Raito," Ryuk thought, as he grabbed an apple from the table. "It is definitely going to be interesting… Haha! I can't wait to see what he has up his sleeve."

And as Raito turned- his face suddenly contorted, with his eyes a glimmering red. Watching out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ryuk chewing away happily- and his lips twisted into a horribly demonical grin.

* * *

It was a bright and sunny afternoon.

Raito was pacing the floor with a preoccupied air, when there came the familiar and expected knock.

"Coming, Mrs Morel."

With his usual cat-like grace, Raito slid to the door and opened it. "Why, you look lovely today, Mrs Morel." said Raito effusively, taking the tea things from her. "Are those new bracelets you have? They do go very well with your hair, which I must say, is very well made up." He smiled. "Your style…"

Raito gave a tiny, deliberate cough.

"Is very much like my wife, when she was at her most radiant."

The housekeeper blushed, feeling gratified. And it has to be admitted that Raito is a very good actor, for she was a long way from lovely- with her gaudy accessories and lopsided hair (obviously a failed attempt to style it like the women from the aristocracy), she looked like a colourful macaw with a nose to match.

"Oh, were you busy?" asked the housekeeper, noticing the mess of papers on the table. Raito had carefully balanced the tray on the only clean spot at the edge.

"Oh this? No, not at all. Just- looking at something, that's…that's all," Raito hastily murmured, scooping up the papers up in his arms. And as though by chance, a newspaper had fallen from the top of the pile and onto the floor.

"What _is _this?" asked Mrs Morel as she picked up the fallen paper.

"Oh, some… research," said Raito, his eyes glinting. And while the housekeeper was preoccupied with the newspaper, Raito hurriedly threw the papers in his arms into his cupboard and locked it.

"Oi, Raito," called Ryuk from the back of the room. "That is really not like you to be so careless."

Turning his head slightly, so that Mrs Morel would not see, Raito gave the death-god a knowing smirk.

_Fool._

"W-Why do you still have that paper on this murder case? And…and for research? Why?" Her frightened blue eyes stared at him in horror. "I know everyone has been talking about it. No one knows how the killer operates… men and women have been murdered in their beds!"

"I know," said Raito. His eyes flashed passionately. "And that is why I have to capture him, to stop all the killings."

Ryuk gave a loud hoot of laughter.

Mrs Morel, on the other hand, was clearly full anxiety and trepidation. "Oh you must not… It's too dangerous." Ignoring all formal Victorian decorum, she grasped his arm earnestly. "Please, please, don't do it. You might get killed yourself. What will I ever do without you? You have given me my life back… Without you, I would never have gotten over my husband. I would still be full of hate, and of anger..."

"I- I have to…" Raito stammered. A single tear slid down his cheek. "Believe me, I wouldn't… do this, if I didn't need to."

"But why? Why do you have to?"

"It's…" Raito bit his lip, showing an image of nervousness. "Oh, my dear, I can never lie to you," he said earnestly, taking her hand. "You remind me so much of my wife- How can I ever lie to someone whom I love?" He gently took the newspaper from her. "I will now put my life into your hands- do unto me as you wish."

"Oh, Light…" Mrs Morel said, still holding on to him. "Whatever do you mean?"

"I have something to confess. I am not the man you think I am," Raito said, his voice trembling realistically. "I am no businessman. But first, before I tell you my true identity- I really have to know. What is your opinion on this man operating under the name of Justice?"

"Well… p-p-people have said that…"

"No, Elizabeth," Raito softly said, tilting her head upwards. "I want to know what you think."

There was a pause.

Mrs Morel sat down heavily upon a chair. "I- I know I once told you that I desired that all criminals should go to hell… but in the face of all these mass killings by some unknown power, with anyone associated with crime being in danger of death be they guilty or not- I don't believe this is true justice. I don't want to live in fear for the rest of my life," said Mrs Morel, eyes wide. "I-I mean, much as I dislike criminals, I am shocked by this wholesale slaughter… they, they are still humans…"

Although Raito's eyes looked as though they were full of understanding, beneath their false front lay the triumphant eyes of one who had succeeded in attaining one's objectives.

"I knew you would think this way," said Raito calmly. "I expected nothing else. Hence I believe that I can entrust you with my secret."

"I am a secret agent for the Japanese police," said the young man, taking a seat opposite the housekeeper. "My mission in London is to track down this killer, for he was responsible for the hundreds of deaths in Japan. I hope you will forgive me, but I lied to you. My wife did not die of an illness- she was killed by this person. In Japan, he was called 'Kira'- which means "Killer" in Japanese."

"Kira," she breathed. "But, I never heard of that name. I have never even heard of anything like these murders before as well."

"Of course you hadn't," said Raito smoothly. "It is extremely unlikely that this matter would have been published in British newspapers, although Britain is without a doubt the centre of the modern world. It was all quieted down over at Japan- and besides, given our _technical inferiority_ to Britain, the different languages and our isolated position, it is difficult for news from there to travel here."

"Oh yes," said Mrs Morel vaguely, her brain sagging at the weight of processing all this new information. "I heard most of Asia is a backward place of jungles and swamps… I think Britain has started many campaigns to bring salvation to those poor, inferior people."

Raito raised an eyebrow before lying through his teeth.

"Exactly."

"But why aren't you working with our own police? Why all the secrecy?" asked Mrs Morel bewilderedly.

"Well," said Raito, brow furrowed as though deep in thought. "It's because my superiors are fearful that if I collaborated with the British, word would leak out. It is dangerous as I am also sought after by the murderer. And we are fearful of corruption as well, as you had told me- it seems British judges are easily bribed. What if that is a problem at the police department as well? I would be dead within a week."

"You see," Raito crossed over to the mantelpiece and stared downwards. "I am not being arrogant, but I am the only man that this Killer fears. In Japan, I came close to defeating and capturing him many times, but always, this man has given me the slip. But he knows who I am… and if he finds out that I am working with the British police, I fear that your police ranks will be heavily deciminated, officials threatened- until I am handed over."

"He is a man who will kill any who gets in his way," said Raito. "I can't risk other lives. That is why I had to operate alone… that is," his voice grew softer. "Until I met you."

"Why did you choose me," asked Mrs Morel, her gnarled fingers nervously twirling a tendril of hair. "Why?"

"For so many reasons," smiled Raito. "They are too numerous to count. The moment I saw you, I knew from the start that you are a trustworthy person, of high caliber, and also… well, you can call it a feeling I have, that you are a most perfect woman, as you remind me so like my beautiful and resourceful wife."

Mrs Morel turned away, her cheeks colouring.

Raito eyes narrowed slightly.

_And also, a sentimental, gullible fool. _

"I have to ask you to keep this to yourself. I beg of you not to ask questions if I have to go out disguised, or if I am forced to be away for weeks. Just keep me in your prayers," he murmured, kissing her hand. "That is more than enough for me."

"Light," the woman breathed, her eyes starry. "Of course I will, I will do anything for you. Just- just, be safe." It revolted Raito, seeing this middle-aged woman acting like some love-struck teen, but his face did not change. Instead, his eyes became even more intent.

"I-I am just so sorry I brought you into this," said Raito, his eyes tearing. "I can't afford to lose you too."

And from the back of the room, heard only by one pair of ears, was one gleeful laugh. "I get it now," said Ryuk, flapping his gigantic wings and hovering above the two of them. "This the perfect answer to any suspicious activity she might catch you doing…Brilliant, Raito!"

Slowly, Raito pulled away. "I have to go now, my dear. There are a lot of things that are happening now… I had no idea that Kira would have acted so fast."

"Of course," said Mrs Morel, getting up and heading towards the door. "I- I understand. But please," she whispered. "Take care of yourself."

As the door slowly closed, Raito dropped his compassionate and loving demeanour. "Oh yes," he murmured. "I will. And when you are dead, you will be remembered as having the honour of helping your god fulfill his destiny."


	11. Mr Hyde and Mr Seek

Chapter 10

"All right," said Raito briskly, after he checked that Mrs Morel had really gone and was not listening at the door. "I cannot afford to waste any more time. I need to find out Holmes' true face. If the detective figures out the limitations of the death note, and what I can do- he may move to another location and I will never have the chance to see his face."

He paused.

"I have not been able to find Holmes' name in any of the newspapers I managed to collect… and from what I remember, I think it is mostly the police who claim the credit for Holmes' efforts. It is extremely unlikely that I can find a photograph in the newspapers… I have to be able to recognize him, even if I can't kill him yet."

"I suppose you still do not want my eyes…"

"For the last time, Ryuk. No."

Striding to his cabinet, Raito knelt and pulled out his paints and bundles of clothing. He paused. Due to the length of time he would be expecting to wait for Holmes to show himself (for he didn't know the latter's daily schedule), he knew that he had to pick a disguise that would lead to him not being suspected as a criminal, or draw unnecessary attention if he was caught loitering around.

Setting himself in front of the mirror, Raito began to transform himself. Uncorking a tiny bottle, he poured a greasy, soapy mixture upon his face and arms, and waited for the soap to dry. After about five minutes, he poured a foul smelling liquid upon the soap mixture, and it instantly blistered- resulting in Raito looking like a disfigured man covered with open sores. The young man then hastily applied powder over his face to disguise his Asian skin colour, and used a tattered eye patch and a large fake scar to conceal his own identity effectively. The ragged clothes of a beggar completed the disguise.

After finishing up the touch-ups, Raito hastily wrote a note on a fragment of paper, before clearing up his equipment.

"Very nice, Raito," commented Ryuk appreciatively, chewing an apple. "I can't recognize you at all."

Without a word, Raito stood up and crossed over to the door.

"Oi, Raito," said Ryuk as he swallowed the last of the apple. "Why are you ignoring me?"

Turning, Raito impatiently pointed at the large scar that twisted his lips in such a fashion that it was impossible to speak. "Oh…" said Ryuk apologetically. "Sorry, my bad. Didn't notice."

It took Raito a lot of willpower to treat the death-god normally, for he could never forgive what Ryuk had done to him- some nights he would awake drenched in sweat, seeing in his mind's eye the growing shadow before him, and those mocking protuberant eyes.

He opened the door.

And came face to face with Mrs Morel. "Uhm," she began brightly. "I brought you some cook-"

CRASH.

The platter of biscuits dropped to the floor with a clatter. Eyes wide, she stared at the unrecognizable tramp before her eyes. What ever happened to Raito? Who was this strange man? However, before she had the time to scream, Raito moved forward quickly. Clamping a hand over her mouth, he held up the crumpled note before the frightened woman's eyes.

After a while, she relaxed, and Raito carefully drew his hand away.

"Light? Is this some important police assignment?"

Raito nodded, gesturing towards the staircase.

"Please be careful…" she said, eyes pleading. Raito gave an impatient nod and strode past her quickly, ignoring the mess of plates and cookies on the floor. Walking down the stairs, he strode purposely towards the door. He did not turn back at all.

The sun was out- but it was weak, and the wind was blowing fast and hard. Raito cursed his bad luck. He had hoped for the sunny weather of the morning to continue into the afternoon, but evidently, that hope was misplaced.

221B Baker Street.

Although everyone knew of Mr Sherlock Holmes, his whereabouts was not exactly well- known before the publishing of Watson's memoirs. Raito thus was forced to check with the police the day before. Dressed impeccably with an expensive suit and hat, the police gave him no trouble and told him what he wanted. And as he had memorized already the layout of this part of England, his photographic memory ensured that he would have no trouble finding where the great detective lived.

People out in their cloaks gave him a wide berth, and while some looked at him sympathetically, most looked at him with disgust. Raito ignored all of them as he strode towards his destination.

Taking his place just opposite the building, Raito sat down and placed a tattered and worn cap before him. Beggars were a common sight in England, and so Raito assumed that this disguise was the best in order to achieve his objective (as long as there were no policemen about).

Now the only thing to do… was to wait and see.

It was going to be difficult to pick Holmes out, but Raito was fairly confident that he could do it. Remembering the details from the books he had enjoyed as a teen, Raito knew (if they were accurate) that Sherlock Holmes was an individual with very distinct and unique features. Possessing aquiline features, he had dark hair and was lean in stature.

Hours passed.

Raito was getting a cramp from sitting at that position for so long, but he persevered. He began to fear that Sherlock Holmes was not going to emerge, and that he had wasted a whole afternoon waiting. He cursed inwardly.

"Here, a sovereign for you, my man."

Raito jumped, and as his eyes darted upwards- they came to rest directly upon his opposite. Staring at him with dark and piercing eyes, the lean man before him nodded slightly- and turned away. Head bowed against the strong wind, Raito could see the strands of dark hair beneath his bowler hat. A middle-aged, portly gentleman who was at the former's side smiled at him compassionately, and threw in a penny as well before leaving.

Without even seeing whether they went into the house he watched, Raito at once got up and left hurriedly. Ryuk gave a small laugh. "Eh, Raito… Why the long face? You got what you wanted, didn't you?"

Even if Raito could talk, he would not have bothered to answer. His heightened sense of danger warned him that all was not well.

He had not counted on Sherlock Holmes being at such close proximity to him. His skill as a make-up artist was still amateur at best, and the knowledge of Holmes' great deductive skill haunted him.


End file.
